Monthly Archives: November 2011

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1/2 Idjit! Porter, Dugges Ale, Sweden Only Rocks 1/2 a Idjit

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For those who can't take a full Idjit, here's just a 1/2 Idjit. The size of the porter isn't everything.

A: The appearance is dark and murky with deep iced tea browns at the edges. It looks like the repository water at your favorite water park. It has pretty mild carbonation and comes off as lackluster as a Deer Tick album, it just doesn’t care if you enjoy it or not. Which is strange because I thought Sweden was all into helping its citizens and giving away everything for free.

Meanwhile in Sweden. . .

S: The smell is like a chocolate ashtray, burnt malts, like a scorched boil happened or someone was abusing cocoa beans something fierce. There’s also a deep coffee smell and a sort of tobacco finish. I’m not stoked to drink this and the $14.00 price tag didn’t help matters much. I was probably just subsidizing the health care of those poor Swedish brewers.

T: This is burnt malt at first and then the smoky notes sheepishly show up slowly. The whole Racine tragedy unfolds as the triangle love interest is completed with stale coffee as the virgin martyr. This might be a compelling one man monologue but the whole thing just takes way too long and has no fulfilling finish, it’s like Kurt Russell in a glass.

This is my life if I never had Idjit again, full or half.

M: the mouthfeel is thin and swift, imparting burnt cigar and chocolate dust along my teeth. I dont think my teeth whitening was worth the offshading that this beer imparts but, it is dead on for the genre so I guess we can’t knock it for giving the old college try. The old second string noseguard for
Kent State sort of try.

D: Overall, I dont smoke and I dont make out with people who smell like American Spirits. So I guess, no, not very drinkable and I am not stoked to drop a ton of MAD COIN on this Swedish meatball again.

Oh no, I just drank the whole bottle. Oh yes, that was a waste of money and calories.

Narrative: Torgny stabbed the arctic sheeting lightly and stared off into the distance. “TORGNY! You are must to be making the sheets faster! LARGER!” his supervisor called out to him. Life was rough on the ice farm. What with the whole, making the ice, waiting til the 9 month winter season and harvesting it; life was rough and cold. Torgny would complain, however, every morning at the crest of 12:45 p.m. when the sun was rising, he would see his old classmates pile out of the brewery. Each looked comically like a Victorian era oil prospector, smoking an oversized cigar, eating Toblerones with careless abandon. “That life is not for me to be having,” he thought in broken English and shook his head. Sure his hands would split with terrible cold and his ice sheets would only be made into Formula 50 Smart Water, but there could be nothing less fulfilling than making chocolate tobacco water that no one liked. “TORGNY, is the timing for the lunching RESPITE!” MMM sweet huskmankolst and tasty pitepolt.

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Armand 4, Lente, Oude Geuze, Belgian Acidic and Sick Wid It

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Oh Wait, #7 Ranked Beer in the Whole World? Things are real in and around the field.

Armand 4, Lente, Geuze, 6% ABV

A: The beer has a radiant hue to it that is mellow but gold, like fresh cornbread in a field of poppies. The carbonation is huge and produced major frothy losses. However, this beer is rare and annoying to ship in from Belgium so, there’s an inherent bias. Dont touch it, dont even look at it.

Please Dont Touch the Lente.

S: The smell is acidic and tart with a tart lemon and apricot to it. There is a bit of white wine tannins and funky wet hay/post dogbath towel smell going on in a great way.

T: The taste is wild tart skittles, pear, apricot, and a deep acidity to it. The prickly tartness lingers long after you swallow and there’s almost a sort of red bull sugary finish. I dont want it to rip my mouth apart, but I know it is coming. Gumline recedes with every sip.

I know something bad is coming.

M: The mouthfeel is light and crisp like biting into fresh Anjou pear, however, the prickliness of the sourness burns and washes hot in a ph2 sort of way. With each sip, there’s a huge frothiness that expands in torrential sourness.

D: This is drinkable at first, simply due to how fantastic it tastes. However, right around the crest of a full 750ml tour of duty, I need some tums before I stoploss my ass into another round with this acrimonious asshole. It is amongst the finest sours/geuzes that I have ever tasted, but the acidity is almost too much and tears up the gumline like a native american treaty. And as soon as it began, the Lente is gone, and, I can deal with that.

Sit back and enjoy the Lente.

Narrative: “Dr. Irisine, line 1,” the loudspeaker boomed through the successful plastic surgery clinic. Dr. Irisine’s heels clicked along the linoleum with purpose. He swung into room 302 lightly on the heels of his supple lambskin shoes. “I am not going to honeysuckle you, this is bad, but nothing that I can’t fix,” he sincerely stated as he looked over his patient’s collapsed mandible. “Now listen, bedside manner is not my strong suit, but, I have seen industrial acid injuries worse than this, a little lye to the face is a walk in the park these days.” Within hours, the consent forms were signed and the patient was lying in a supine position under Dr. Irisine’s skillful care. The face took the acidity hard. It looked like a morbid Gushers commerical, but Dr. Irisine was the best around. His debonair scalpel and suction hose clipped left and right with compunction, excising away the destroyed teeth and gumline. Several hazy hours later, the patient woke up to see Dr. Irisine sucking on a lemon rind while gazing out the window. “Don’t try to speak. However, ponder this for me, what is it about life that condemns some gallant men to suffer horrible acid burns to the mouth and others to enjoy the sweet succor of its fruits?” he dropped the rind on the windowsill and flicked a drop of lemon juice onto the EKG. “Well my dear patient, when life hands you lemons-” he trailed off, spit out a seed and began to whistle the Andy Griffith theme song as he exited the plastic surgery ward.

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Dogfish Head, Sahtea, Spiced Ale 9% abv

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Dogfish Head Sahtea

Time for some exotic Autumn Love. Autumn All Non-Gregorian Steeze.

This is not Sahtea, so now you know which bottle not to purchase. Deal with it.

Autumn week has been fun, after it’s over, you have to drink like a normal alcoholic. Enjoy this final respite free of maple leaf judgment.

Sahtea, Dogfish Head, 9% ABV, spiced ale/Sahti

A: This is murky orange with some yellowing at the edge, no head to speak of, middle body carbonation throughout with small bubbles. Oh wait, you say that’s not descriptive enough? How about you imagine William H. Macy in front of a warm hearth? No? Fine, some mild murkiness like the inevitable job application from an ex-con.

S: Lots of cinnamon, tea, juniper, with an overrriding smell of nutmeg. It’s like a swedish chef spilled a crazy splash into the kettle. It is bizarre but interesting, like John Stamos’s IMDB, you just cant look away.

This is how I felt after I actually tasted this spicetrap.

T: Go bite into a piece of pumpkin pie and chase it with a refined gin, now we are on the same level. This has a bizarre sweetness that tastes like holiday treats, pumpkin, yams, cinnamon, but then a strangely hollow sweetness to it that feels like a synthetic sweetner. It is not bad, but it is difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t had an autumnal festival all up in their dome piece.

M: The taste is surprisingly thin for all of the leaves falling and equinox shift that is taking place. Not a lot of coating just a wafting sweetness that lingers like a poltergeist, haunting your mouth with sweet aparitions. HAS YOUR MOUTH EVEN BEEN SLAMMED BY A PUMPKIN GHOST? Well now it has.

Curl Up to a Nice Movie With Your Pumpkin Ghost.

D: This is not a very drinkable beer. I didn’t find myself wishing for more of it, more than anything it was fun to try and explain the experience to someone. It felt a little bit like Samhain, in liquid form. I can see this beer having a place around a certain season, I just cant think which one, the pumpkin and candy notes make it difficult to place.

I paid $20 for this at a bar, and was all like-

Narrative: Papers, TPS reports, zoning regulations: WHO THOUGHT THAT BEING THE PUMPKIN KING WOULD BE SO MUCH WORK. You didn’t ask for this, being the dauphin of several regal seasonal bloodlines, but yet here you are, in your ostentacious orange house, your burnt yellow desk, sipping on eggnog wondering where it all went wrong. Well I guess Pumpkinonia could have used more regulation of its chief export, rubber, but who are you to interfere with the Pumpkinonian’s laize faire commercial structure? The seed tarrifs, the middle road tolls, cleaning up constant pumpkin guts from the country side was just far more than you bargained for. Then the sweet juniper potion starts to call your name, you are a flawed ruler, to be sure, but who can fault the Pumpkin King for being a raging alcoholic. After all, you smell like a warmed over holiday party 364 days out of the year, but on Flag Day you rest. DING, time to take the PUMPKIN PIE OUT OF THE OVE- BANG!

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Lost Abbey Framboise De Amarosa, Farmboise De Omarosa be too crazy.

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Framboise Never Had It So Good

Framboise de Amarosa, American Wild Ale 7.0% abv

A: There are deep ruby hues with some nice light carbonation and light red lacing. It’s like Hypnotiq’s baller ass raspberry flavor to be all sipping on while you’re cruising in your triple black Challenger.

S: The smell presents an intense cranberry and acidic dryness with raspberry on the nose. The oak is present in the smell and it is has a juicy wine profile to it. It’s like Andre Rose Champagne but with leather seats and a cutty ass Gucci interior.

T: The taste is incredibly drying with incredibly tart raspberry notes. This might be the driest and also the most tart american wild ale that I have ever had. The juiciness was present but largely the dryness wipes out the gumline and presents a huge intimidating bouquet of berries and crispness. The acidity is crazy and stings like an atomic warhead.

M: Again, there is an intense, huge crisp dryness. The mouthfeel seems like it’s an intense merlot with oak to round it out. It’s tough to determine exactly how thin or thick this beer is because the coating is so acrimonious. IT’S SUCH A DEEP BURN, OHHH DEEP SQUATS WITH SICK BOUNCING BETTIES, SICK DEAD LIFT FINISH BROMOROSA.

D: This is an incredible experience with crazy highs and low to it. This is not a figure of balance, nor does it do anything in moderation. It is impossible not to recommend this exceptional beer to others. Clearly, it is not meant to be enjoyed as a sesssion beer and should be treated accordingly. The taste is so amazing that it is hard to knock it for adhering to a certain style so well. Overall it is incredibly bitter and juicy and I am left wanting more.

Narrative: The train of her ostentatious gown dragged upon the split staircase with wanton disregard for anyone walking near her. After all, there were plenty of tailors within her Parlor and weekly soirees that would readily repair any damage. Somehow Countess Brioche sought more than just the exploitation of the endearing faces of the working classes. She sought their unending love. Notwithstanding, her acerbic parents brought her up to speak her mind truthfully and freely at all times, no matter how scathing. “Oh-oh-oh!” The Duchess of Piedmont fell down two stairs to her knees upon the rich velvet of Countess Briochess’s train. “Your steps lack precision due to the mass pressed upon them.” Mme. Brioche commented and felt a slight pang at her ejaculation. It wasn’t fair to cut others so deeply with such a bitter acerbic purity. Somehow, in this acidic repartee, others saw themselves, and their own shortcomings, despite the caustic burns they received. Countess Brioche looked upon a bustling courtyard of servants who despised her, but respected her stinging candor.

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Shipyard, Pumpkin Head, 5% abv

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Shipyard doing it, mid-range.

All Hail the Pumpkin King

Alright, Autumn week continues with all its autumnal splendor. Give Gramma a kiss for me.

Shipyard Pumpkinhead, Pumpkin Ale, 5% abv

A: Mellow gold with absolute transparency, nice fizzy carbonation that dissipates immediately. It appears like apple juice through and through.

S: The nose is easily the best part of this beer, it is like having your face smashed in a jack o lantern full of cinnamon. There’s a bit of clove and nutmeg and a honey finish. Reminds me of lovingly pushing elderly people into piles of leaves. Oh autumn.

T: The taste is similar to the nose but more watery and muted. It has a nice sweet introduction and a cornbread sweetness with a nice pumpkin pie finish. Nothing to complain about here, it is exactly as represented.

M: This is about as thin as an adjunct lager. However, the mouthfeel doesn’t feel like an adjunct lager, it feels like there was actually some legit pumpkins up in the mix during the mashing. However, the watery finish almost commands a 6 pack serving size. I can barely finish this review and it is already almost gone.

D: See infra. This is crisp, light little adjunct lagery pumpkin ale that has a limited arsenal of parlor tricks. It isn’t bad by any means, it is just limited in scope. I will say, however, that my girlfriend and my dog thoroughly enjoyed it.

Narrative: Not all mutants end up as super heroes. That is a grave misconception that is entertained by lovers of lore and those who deny simple medical facts. “Well this isn’t easy for me to say this to you Skylar, so I will just say it,” Dr. Tabby wiped his glasses on his jacket and hesitated for a moment. “your orbital and suture bones have, well they-” Skylar shifted on the wax paper and leaned forward intently, “GOD DAMNIT! YOUR HEAD IS A PUMPKIN! IT’s just…pumpkin. I am so sorry.” Skyler notted his massive produce cranial reflectively. Deep down he always knew it would come to this, a mild concussion at Le Crosse practice and then the old “your head is actually a pumpkin” speech. “Save your MEDICAL JARGON DOCTOR, just, tell me, am I gonna make it?” Doctor Tabby smiled a wry smile and stated softly “with great power comes great responsibility my boy” and he nodded enticingly. “Yes, but, my skull, a good part of my skull has become a pumpkin, I mean how do I deal with this in my life?” “Ah, I see what you are saying: ‘I have a massive pumpkin head, do I use this for good or evil?’” “No that’s not at all what I was asking, am I in danger, can I die from thi-” Dr. Tabby folded his arms behind his back and looked out the window onto the elementary school, strangely placed next door. “You see those children, there Skylar? Each a normal child with a perfectly normal bone skull. Not a single one of them extraordinary in any way, that is to say, not a pumpkin cranium amongst the lot.” Skylar shed a single pumpkin tear that dripped a viscous orange liquid to his lapel. “I KNOW WHAT I MUST DO!” Skylar declared, jumping up to action, and, the subsequent police report brought many a smile to the local children and horror to the faces of produce farmers alike in the tri-state area.

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Surly Darkness, 10.3% Imperial Stout, Charlie Murphy: DARKNESS

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It's like Baudelaire hooking up with Minnie Mouse, so dark, so dirty.

What perfect beer for the day after Halloween, DIA DE LOS MUERTOS, than Darkness, an inherently evil stout

Surly, 2010 Darkness, Imperial Stout, 10.3% abv

A: This has a deep black, 1970’s exploitation film sort of darkness to it. There is a bit of shiny resplendence but it is as inky as a frightened squid through and through. It lives up to its name, dark as satan’s magic, like post-Milton Satan, really dark. Also the carbonation is like 5% tint baller, thick, and mocha.

S: It has the smell of deep dark melted raisins, melted dark chocolate, roasted coffee, figs and a vanilla sweetness. It’s like that movie Problem Child, sweet, but dark and disturbing at the same time.

T: This beer has a fantastic sweetness at the outset similar to maple syrup with cocoa and chocolate tastes throughout. The alcohol is well hidden and presents a nice oakiness on the finish. It’s like being whipped with black licorice, but at a pagan Steinbeck festival, deep, sweet, and bothersome.

M: The mouthfeel has a great maltiness and depth that just delivers on so many levels. It coats initially like Behr paint, the nursery mocha color of negligent parents. It lingers when you cleanse the palate and gives a nice tobacco taste. It’s like kissing the smoky old chocolate mixer at the Godiva factory, with his sweet Guatemalan mouth.

D: This is thick, rich, and dark; the Lamar Odom of the stout world. While in most instances, a beer this ambitious suffers but, I have a tough time knocking this because the sweetness is there, the coffee is there, and it washes away clean. This tawdry barista is good for the long haul.

Narrative: “Dear Warren, I have longingly written to you every day, please, just let me know if the flame, that burned so brightly when we embraced each other underneath the Bakersfield moonlight at the water park, still smolders within your breast.” The rain pounded the window sill and Kaitlyn cried soft alligator tears that rolled down her cheeks and the Energy Star windows of her track home. The winters in Bakersfield had a biting cold that was paralleled only by the winter wonderland that was Stockton. “Dear Kaitlyn, I am not sure if our summer romance was a fleeting apparition in your mind, but I still think back to the warm buzzing of the Kern County air, and coughing mildly at the humidity and pollution. I still miss the sweet taste of your Dr. Pepper chaptick. My letters go unanswered, please answer me sweet muse.” Barreling down the streets of California avenue was a Post Service truck painted matte black, its occupant maintained a hateful twisted smile. Bags and bags of correspondence were ignited before the authorities caught onto his exploits. The Dark Courier knew no boundaries. “Dear Kaitlynn, I heard of a tragic fire in Bakersfield and double homicide on Cedar ave, near our favorite water park, please respond to let me know that all is well.”